Allison Leigh - A Weaver Holiday Homecoming

Mallory found herself staring into a pair of deeply blue eyes.

A strikingly familiar blue.

She froze. Her lips parted, but no words could emerge, since her mouth had gone bone dry.

He was the one to break the silence, his voice deep and slightly gruff and definitely in keeping with his rough, unshaven jaw and the tousled dark hair on his head that looked in need of a good barber. “You’re Dr Keegan?”

She swallowed. Nodded.

His gaze was sharp. Studying. Almost as if he were memorizing her appearance before he stuck out a bare, long-fingered hand. “I’m Ryan Clay.”

Her hand seemed to rise of its own accord and settle against his for the briefest of moments.

The contact still managed to leave her feeling shaky.

And that shakiness had nothing to do with the words that she knew were going to come out of his mouth, before they actually did.

“I’m here about your daughter.”

Dear Reader,

Every month I receive letters or e-mails from readers asking about various members of the Clay family, or wanting an update on what’s going on at the Double-C Ranch or in Weaver. I have a really large collection from those who’ve wanted to know what’s been going on with Ryan. Where is he? Is he coming back? Is he dead? Is he alive?

As an author it is so rewarding to know that these people have found a place where they’re welcomed and cared about—like members of a family. That’s how they are in my mind, and it’s wonderful to know I’m not alone!

Well, I’m happy to say Ryan is, indeed, quite alive, and never more so than when he encounters the Keegan women, and he discovers that there is existing…and then there is living.

He’s been through a lot, our Ryan. But now he’s back for good. I hope you enjoy the homecoming.

All my best,

Allison Leigh

by

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ALLISON LEIGHstarted early by writing a Halloween play that her grade-school class performed. Since then, though her tastes have changed, her love for reading has not. And her writing appetite simply grows more voracious by the day.

She has been a finalist for a RITA® Award and a Holt Medallion. But the true highlights of her day as a writer are when she receives word from a reader that they laughed, cried or lost a night of sleep while reading one of her books.

Born in Southern California, Allison has lived in several different cities in four different states. She has been, at one time or another, a cosmetologist, a computer programmer and a secretary. She has recently begun writing full-time after spending nearly a decade as an administrative assistant for a busy neighborhood church. She currently makes her home in Arizona with her family. She loves to hear from her readers, who can write to her at PO Box 40772, Mesa, AZ 85274-0772, USA.

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

This is for all of you who’ve kept asking for Ryan’s story. Thank you for your patience!

“This isn’t an assignment like anything else you’ve ever done. That we’ve ever done.” The silver-haired man watched him steadily from across the small table. “There are even fewer guarantees than usual.”

Around them, the small backwater pub was crowded with people. No one seemed interested in what any of the other patrons were doing. Or discussing. This wasn’t the kind of place where people came to be seen.

It was the kind of place where people came to remain invisible.

Which was why it was a perfect meeting place for Ryan Clay and his boss.

He eyed the older man who’d just outlined the dicey undercover scheme and slowly twisted his glass in the ring of sweat the ice had left on the scarred wooden tabletop. “I can handle it,” he said, since Cole seemed to be waiting for some sort of response.

“It’s not going to be easy,” Cole warned.

Needlessly.

Nothing to do with the agency had ever been easy. It hadn’t been for any of the agents on Hollins-Winword’s very secretive payroll—several of whom came from Ryan’s own family.

And it was family that had grabbed his interest when Coleman Black gave Ryan the rundown. How many families were being destroyed by the trafficking ring he was being assigned to infiltrate?

“I can handle it,” he said again. A little impatiently, because if his boss hadn’t already known that point, he wouldn’t have chosen to offer Ryan the assignment in the first place. Coleman Black was a hard-as-nails man. But he was also practical. He didn’t like losing good agents. They were too hard to come by.

By the time an agent got to the level Ryan held within the organization, assignments weren’t doled out by demand. They were offered. And always with the expectation that it was no sin for the agent to decline.

Mostly, because some agents never made it back.

Ryan easily pushed the thought out of his mind and met his boss’s sharp gaze. “Let’s just get on with it.”

Coleman watched him for a moment longer. Measuring.

Then he nodded. He sat forward. And then their low talk began in earnest.

Five years later.

He couldn’t handle it.

Ryan Clay stared into the black depths of his coffee mug, wishing it were whiskey—except he’d given that up a year ago—and thought about all the ways he could escape.

The simplest way, of course, would be to just disappear. Again.

It had worked before. For a while. The fact that he still felt guilty for letting everyone who loved him think the worst was beside the point. Better for them to have thought he’d perished doing the honorable thing—living up to the Clay family standards—than knowing the truth.

That he’d walked away from a mission without finishing it, and he’d done it with blood on his hands.

But if he really believed that, then why the hell had he come back at all? He could have stayed right where he was…in a corner of the world surrounded by people equally miserable as he.

He hooked his boot heel over the rung on his counter stool and lifted the coffee mug. Grimaced as he swallowed.

“You sure you don’t want a refill?” Tabby Taggart stopped on the other side of the counter, holding the coffee carafe aloft. “You’ve been nursing that cup for an hour now, Ryan. Gotta be cold.”

It was.

Cold and bitter.

Pretty much just like he was.

“No. Thanks,” he tacked on. The last time he’d seen Tabby, she’d been a high school kid. It didn’t seem as if she’d changed much. She was still a kid to him, seeming aeons younger than his thirty-seven, but he knew she was already out of college. Waiting tables at Ruby’s while she tried for some fancy position at an Italian museum.

Nor had Ruby’s Diner changed much in all the years he’d been coming there. Not since his mother had moved them to the small town of Weaver, Wyoming, when he’d been nine.

The chrome-padded stools at the counter were still topped with shining red vinyl. The booths lining the square room were still full of people. The most popular item, though, wasn’t even on the menu.